That Chorus of Voices So Cruelly Sings
by LucyWithoutDiamonds
Summary: America has been bullied so much about his weight he develops an eating disorder. Will anyone see something is wrong, or stand by his side as he gets tormented? Or is America's fake smile too convincing? Oneshot. Rated for adult themes.


The mirror before him taunted him. He pinched his pudgy stomach between his fingers and scowled. There was no denying that he was overweight, but no one bothered to keep that thought to themselves anyway. The voices of the other nations played back in his mind.

_You're so fat America._

_I heard your obesity rate went up again. Not that I needed to hear it to know it._

_Fatty! Fatty!_

He wanted to vomit. A few seconds later, he did just that. It was gross, vile, and disgusting. And it had become his life. _Tomorrow,_ he told himself, _tomorrow I'll go back on my diet. I'll follow it, and lose weight like I should._ And tomorrow he did. He went back on his strict diet of vegetables and vitamins, the only meat in his life becoming a tiny, dry, and tasteless roasted chicken breast to break up the monotony. Days would pass, and although he was hungry, he would be pleased with himself and the progress he was making. But then the cravings would come, and when they came, they came in like a speeding eighteen wheeler on a highway. Echoing with every rumble of his stomach, his mind chanted as if it only knew how to betray him: _cheeseburgers, fries, chocolates, pies..._ Within a matter of hours, all the food in his cabinets would be gone, and he would be on his couch, bloated, and sobbing uncontrollably, scolding himself for his lack of self-control. His stomach would gurgle, he would contemplate just living with it, and then the chorus of voices would begin to sing again.

_Stupid pig._

_Are you sure you haven't gotten diabetes yet?_

_Can't stop eating, can you? Fatass._

There would be no food in his stomach when he slept that night. Yes, Alfred Jones, better known to his acquaintances (as they certainly didn't act like friends), as America. Yes, America was perfectly fine. Or at least that's what he told himself.

* * *

The doors to the meeting swung open on their shiny brass hinges and he pushed on the dark walnut, smooth beneath his fingers. Sounds hit him in waves, some in distinct, harsh accents, and others in rolling and calming tongue. None of which did anything to calm his nerves, which throbbed in his throat with every beat of his heart. He resisted the urge to pull out a hamburger to distract himself with, and instead nimbly clutched a single carrot, munching on it slowly. England and Prussia, of all people eventually noticed him, and did not hesitate to make a comment.

"_Hey fatso, are you dieting? It's about time; although if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to be a rabbit."_

"_Leave the poor git alone. He doesn't need you reminding him of how OBVIOUSLY OBESE he is,"_ England shouted the insult loud enough for it to resonate around the room, drawing more than a few giggles. America held back tears and flashed that flawless Hollywood smile he had perfected over the years. Shooting an insult at England's cooking and Prussia's beer, he laughed as obnoxiously as he could manage. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't very well. It was more of a raspy whisper, and it took everyone aback. He stopped abruptly, pain erupting in his esophagus. America's voice was hoarse. Never, in any nation's prior experience, had there been a war, economy, or even natural disaster that had caused any of them to lose their voices. Except for maybe Canada, but he hardly ever spoke anyway. America curled his hands around his throat; the cool fingers felt good, but he inside still felt as if it was on fire. Lithuania and Japan approached him, concerned.

"Are you alright, Mr. America? You don't sound so good. Did something happen?"

"No, no," He tried to assure them, but his voice cracked halfway through the second 'no'. One of America's hands lifted to his lips, pressing the chapped pair lightly. And by luck, or nature, or God, or because he's a nation, or whatever you choose to call it, his throat started to heal. Only one more moment would he be mute. He counted down the seconds silently.

"Are you sure, America-san? You do not sound al-right." Five, four.

"_Maybe the fat has finally smothered his voice!" _laughed Prussia. Three.

"_Or maybe all that greasy fat has finally fried his brain into forgetting how to speak!" _shouted .

"_How about it fatty? The hamburger fats got ya down?" _snorted South Italy. _ONE_.

"Naw, I'm fine. I'm the hero, remember?!" he exclaimed, and Japan and Lithuania's worries dissolved into dust. Hollywood returned to his face, and he winked for emphasis. New phrases added to the ones assaulting his mind, and he smiled wider to make sure no one saw his internal pain. He would go home once the meeting was over and eat more and more carrots.

* * *

Three days later, all the food in his cabinets was gone. In his mind, the choir sang louder than ever, bringing tears to his eyes. Yes, America was perfectly fine. Or at least that's what he told himself.

* * *

**A/N: Hello fans, friends, and reader alike! Some of my followers are probably wondering why I put this up before updating Y.D.K.M. and W.Y. Worry not, both of those updates (chapters) are in the making. But the plot bunnies are hopping along, and I happened to snag this one today. I tried to keep it short and sweet, but I do believe that eating disorders are something VERY serious, and I wanted to write something to address them and the effects of bullying on people's minds. If you're a victim of either, don't be afraid to seek help. Even though I've never had an eating disorder, I have been bullied. Don't let it run your life; tell someone. Chances are, you're not alone.**

**Reviews are love! Thank you for reading.**


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